Character Assassin: Truth Behind the Lie
by AllenGaynor
Summary: A contract sniper has given foreign diplomats and career criminals reason to fear in the city of Seattle. What the cast of iCarly does not know may hurt them; moreover, one of them will have to come out of more than one closet. "M" for gore-violence, /.
1. Air of Secrecy

Contrary to what Carly, Spencer and the rest of the world thinks, Freddie Benson and I've been dating since we shared our first kiss with one-another about a year ago. It was a while before we consented to remain in the same room with one-another on an actual date, but eventually we found a little café on the other side of Seattle where we could go and retain that air of secrecy.

Eventually, though, we kissed each other goodnight. And last night was the first time we'd actually slept together; having somehow gained the permission of his overprotective mother, Freddie found himself at an apartment my mother had begun to rent for me, and which I was beginning to secure with money from a job I'd been lucky enough to snag recently. Unfortunately, though, it was a job where a lot of things could go wrong in a very short span of time. As much as I hate to admit it, I like the adrenaline rush I get. I guess it's something I like to do, even if it does mean doing something some people find so appalling that it's impossible for them to even think about it.

My work phone rang, startling me out of my peaceful sleep. "Hey. I'm here."

"Puckett," said the voice on the other end, "we've just received intel that puts a very dangerous foreign diplomat from North Korea has arrived in Seattle. He's staying in a hotel room at the Mariatt, thirteenth floor, Presidential Suite. He's known for negotiating treaties with our country, always at our expense. We need him taken out. One shot, Puckett. Twice the usual rate if you're successful on this one."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

"Don't be late."

The call terminated, and as I turned off my phone and placed it in my pants pocket, Freddie stirred next to me and propped himself up on an elbow. "What's goin' on, Sam?"

I smiled and kissed his lips. "Go back to sleep, Babe. I've gotta get to work. Emergency."

"You sure you don't want to suck me off, first?"

I smiled. "I wish, Babe. But it's a real emergency. I'll see you in a couple hours, 'kay?"

"Yeah." He smiled and placed his hand between my legs. I smiled and closed my eyes, my breath hitching, then took his wrist gently and lifted his fingers to my mouth so I could taste myself. "You dirty, dirty girl, Sam Puckett!"

"You know how to turn me on, Dipshit!" I said, using my pet name for him. "I've gotta go."

I pulled on black cargo pants and a matching shirt that came with the job, then donned a black military-issue cap and picked up my toolbox.

Somehow, my employer had acquired a full, legal driver's license for my sixteen-year-old self. While I loved the freedom it brought, I also couldn't help but wonder who it was, and how they'd done it.

At three AM, Seattle was the most beautiful city in the world, and when the rain pattered the windshield of my Benz, it reminded me of the kind of world we ought to have; the kind where everyone stopped and smelled the roses. I loved the rain, and I wasn't about to give it up. As much as I'd pretended I was tough, I was actually a big ol' softie. I smiled to myself, almost forgetting to stop for a red light, even in spite of the fact that I was the only car at that intersection at that time of night. _Morning, I guess you could say._ I smiled to myself, letting myself go in Sabaton's _Atteros Dominatus_. I hummed along. "Atteros Dominatus, Berlin is burning... The Reich has fallen." Sabaton was the only reason I'd passed my last three history classes at the World War Two section.

Pretty soon I arrived in front of a building five-hundred yards from the Presidential Suite of the hotel.

I stepped out of the car and quickly climbed the staircase of that parking garage, my toolkit in hand. My heart hammered, sending pure adrenaline rushing through my veins, not giving it time to mix with the blood that ought to be coursing through me at that same time. I was short of breath, but it was one of the things that kept me going, allowing me to complete each job successfully. I'd never been caught, and if I kept following orders, I wouldn't get caught. Sometimes, though, I was lucky. You can't rely on luck.

Thirty or forty feet shy of the top floor of the garage, I stopped. There was no one on this level, and there were no cars here. Still, I knew from my very brief criminal career that the security in this garage was lax. Smiling at the familiarity, I ran over to the far corner at a crouch, set down my case, and unlatched it. Every time I opened this case, I couldn't help but smile as I pulled out the familiar instrument with which I had been trusted; fifty-and-a-half inches of steel and plastic, nearly sixteen pounds of deadly firepower.

I picked up my Savage 110 BA and ran my fingers down the length of the stock, then loaded five rounds in the clip and cocked it; lucky I'd sighted in for five-hundred yards the last time I shot. Any more or less and I'd lose precious time.

I rested the barrel of my rifle on the concrete wall between me and the street below, plucking the lens cap off my scope. I peered through and made a slight adjustment. _This is it. One Korean motherfucker down, Puckett. He'd be lucky to have any grey matter left when you're through with him._ There was a pause as the activity in the suite across the way ceased; I guessed maybe they'd pulled their dignitary out of the room because of the threat I posed, but then he stopped in front of the window, his hands clasped behind his back. I ceased my breathing as he was handed a drink. _Let me kill this asshole. Let me be swift and accurate._ He sipped on his drink, and as I felt my heart reach the interim between beats, I squeezed the trigger. The recoil was deadly beautiful as the projectile launched itself from the barrel of my weapon.

Before I could reach the bolt with my trigger hand, I saw the grass between the diplomat and me cracking, and he went down with a spray of blood.

I opened the bolt, removed the clip, which had four rounds left, and placed both the rifle and the clip back inside, taking care to quickly place the lenscap back where it went. Yes, one foreign diplomat-terrorist hybrid down, an assload to go.

Closing the case, I picked it up, running at a crouch to my car, careful to take a different route out than I'd taken when I'd infiltrated this building to kill the guy; it wouldn't do for my employer to lose me because of an elementary mistake. As much as I'd love to get back to that Benz the same way I came in, the longer way was the most logical way, the one that lent me the least danger of being killed. _Scratch one._ I nodded as I made my way hurriedly down the staircase and out into the cool, wet night air.

As I rounded the corner to where I'd parked my car, I saw three guys in gray hoodies removing the tires on the car and moving cinderblocks into place. _Heh... lucky they don't know I'm a career criminal... or was._ I smirked and marched over to them; they were so busy they didn't notice my boots falling on the pavement.

I swung my case and hit the first one across the back of the head, turning to the second one. He was a big, beefy guy. He wasn't black, but he talked like he was. "Yo, whatch'u-!"

My case collided with his face with a big, dull _thunk._ I turned to the third one, who was going to run, but just as he was getting out of throwing distance, I picked up a rock by my foot and threw it at his head. He went down, his face hitting the pavement with a silent smack.

Taking a closer look at my car, I realized that the tires weren't loose quite yet. I tightened the rivets and pulled open my car, set my case down, and turned the key in the ignition, satisfied. I nodded, pooching out my lips. "Yeah, baby," I muttered to myself.

_Now... I believe I owe Freddie a blowjob._


	2. How O How?

"…What's that ther weasel doin' on your face?"

"T' ain't no weasel! This hur's my moustache!"

"Don't look like no moustache I've ev'r seen! So does it do any tricks?"

"Wha…? Daggum, girl! This is a moustache! See for yourself!"

I tried to avoid laughing as Carly petted my the fake moustache I'd put on for the Ditzy Cowgirl act on the show. "Gee! This sure is a fine weasel!"

"What! I done told you girl, this is mah moustache!"

"What's your weasel's name?"

"Ya idgit, it's a moustache! It don't come off, so it ain't no weasel!"

Carly smiled at the camera and said, "This has been iCarly! And remember..."

"Pickles are good for more than just eating!" I picked up a pickle from a bowl we'd been using earlier and threw it at Freddie, who uttered an "Ow," and gave us the clear.

"That was good, you guys! I think we've got gold here!"

"Three television seasons of this stuff and we don't have gold? What're you, nuts?" I said to Freddie, who nodded. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"Well," said Carly, "If you two don't mind, I've got to get changed and help Spencer with his new sculpture."

"The one made out of a giant plastic fruitbasket?"

"Fruity Krueger. Yep. That's the one!"

I shook my head. "That guy's so inspired. It's almost Halloween and he's still building that thing." Carly left and went down to her room. "So..." I said to Freddie, approaching him and wrapping my arms around his waist. "I'd still like to have dinner on the terrace back at my place. You up for that?" I pecked him on the lips and smiled as he grinned and let out a knowing laugh. "You know it, Babe." I opened the door and started arguing with him about how I thought tomato was a vegetable. "I mean, if it were a frickin' fruit, it'd be sweet, wouldn't it? And they wouldn't put it on a hotdog!"

"I'm just saying, Sam, that it's got just enough of the acids and proteins fruits have to qualify it as a fruit!"

"You know what's really fruity, Fredweird? You!"

Spencer appeared from around the plastic fruits piled on top of one another as we arrived in the living room. "What're you two arguing about fruits for?"

"Freddie says that tomato's a fruit. It's a vegetable, isn't it?"

"You know... I've heard a little bit of both. Maybe we should research it?"

"I've got a better idea," said Freddie, going over to the computer. "How about we ask iCarly fans? That way we can have a fair opinion. If they vote for me, they vote for a fruit. If they vote for Sam, it's a vegetable."

"What if they vote equally for both of us?" I realized just then that I still had my cowboy hat on from the show.

"Well, then maybe a third option's called for. If they vote equally for both of us, they... they..." Freddie stopped and stared straight at the screen.

"What, Freddie? Have an accident in your pants?"

"Uh-huh," muttered Freddie, his jaw slack and hanging open. I rolled my eyes and moved forward, my hands on my hips.

"What's the problem?" My eyes found the screen, and just as I was about to open my mouth to tell Freddie he should probably go and change his pants on account of the smell, I stopped. "Whoa... what up with the studio? No one's even on-camera."

"I know." Freddie turned to me. "I think maybe..." His voice trailed off, and just as I thought Freddie wasn't going to do anything, he stood and sprinted up the stairs. I followed closely behind him, and I distinctly heard Spencer muttering behind us, "Kids these days." As I turned the corner, I heard him gag.

Freddie and I reached the studio and opened the door. When he reached the computer, he muttered, "Oh, no." He punched a control and sighed. "There. It's off."

"Dude! What the fuck? I thought you shut it off?"

"I did! I guess I didn't hit the control properly or something!"

"Don't need to say that twice! Was the damn record light even off?"

"I don't know! I thought it was!"

"Here." I muscled my boyfriend out of the way and refreshed the page. "Uh... Freddie... we've got some problems."

"How many?"

"About fifteen-hundred and growing." He made his way over. "Here; 'I thought Freddie and Sam hated each other?' There's another one; 'Was this part of the show, or is this real?'" I turned to Freddie. "We're fucked."

"Okay... what's going on between you two... and what's that smell?" said Carly, entering the room. She was wearing one of her cute skirts and a tube-top.

"Dude!" I said to Freddie. "You just crapped your pants didn't you! Go on! Go home and change, twerp!"

Scowling, Freddie winked at me and turned, apologizing to Carly for having shit his pants.

"So what is going on between you two?"

"Huh? Oh... Freddie forgot to turn the camera off. I don't know what that was about." Calmly as I could, I shut Freddie's laptop. "So what's going on, Carls? Still planning on helping Spencer with Fruity?"

"Yeah. If you want, Spencer always appreciates your help."

"Dude. C'mon. You know I love Spencer's sculptures!" Carly and I made our way out of the room.

As we arrived downstairs, Spencer appeared again from behind Fruity Krueger, who looked just like he did on _Nightmare on Elm Street_, even though then he hadn't been made out of fruit. "Hey!"

"Hey!"

"So... could the two of you get that hat I made out of lettuce and put it on his head?"

"You made a hat out of lettuce? But Spencer, I thought you were building him out of fruit!"

"Well, I was, but lettuce was the only thing I could think of that was good fedora material." Spencer applied watermelon to the places where he'd carved craters in Fruity's flesh to give him that scarred look.

Carly picked up the hat Spencer had made and as she was about to put it on the head of the sculpture, the lettuce gave way. "I'm sorry about that, Spencer!"

"It's okay! I'll put it back together later! Right now, I need to finish these scars!"

Freddie entered just then. "Hey, guys... my Mom knows Spencer's building Freddie Krueger out of fruit, and she carved this awesome fedora out of watermelon rind and dyed it a dark red."

Spencer looked over at Freddie and said, "That's perfect!" As he flung his arms out to celebrate, the bowl he'd been holding that contained the watermelon flew out of his hand and smashed the TV right in the middle of the screen. Turning to Carly, he closed his eyes and said loudly, "Time to get another TV!"

* * *

Later that night, I moved my hips and went down on Freddie, loving how his well-endowed gift felt in my wet pussy. "Aww, fuck!" My nipples were diamond-hard, and Freddie groaned under me, thoroughly enjoying the sensations of sex. His eyes were closed and his mouth twisted in agonized pleasure.

Just as I was about to climax, he started screaming, and I smirked at him as I recognized the sign that he was about to come. Our screams became synchronized, and a moment after I felt my juices flowing, the walls of my pussy tightening, I felt Freddie blow his load, loving how the force of his orgasm was more than I had expected anything sex could be... before I'd let him pop my cherry, of course.

"Oh, holy fuck," muttered Freddie, opening his eyes and putting his hands on my shoulders, bringing me closer so he could suck on my nips. "God, Sam... holy shit!"

I laughed. "Does my boyfriend enjoy porking me?" I teased.

He laughed, sweat running down his chest. "Hell yeah!"

My home phone rang at that moment, and I picked it up. "Hello?" I said, feigning having just been woken up.

"Sam! What's going on?"

"Huh? Carls? What d'you mean what's going on? Why d'you sound pissed?"

"I dunno," Carly said sarcastically. "Maybe because I am! And since when do you swear when no one's done anything to make you pissed?"

"Since when do you swear?"

"Don't dodge the question, Samantha!"

I sighed. "Just tell me what you're so mad about? This thing won't get resolved until you tell me what you're so upset over." There was silence on the line, and I could tell Carly was surprised by my apparent level of maturity.

"Um... well..." She sucked in a breath and then just exploded. "God, Sam! Are you and Freddie dating or not! I mean, the camera only recorded so much of your little after-show party!"

I fell off Freddie's limp dick. "What! What're you...?"

"Don't give me the-!"

"Carls, hold up! I seriously don't know what you're talking about!"

Carly sighed. I could tell she was in tears. "Sam... I just logged on to check on the comments on tonight's webcast, and not only did I see a few that didn't make sense, but I clicked on a link that had been put in one of the comments, and... you and Freddie... you were in your ridiculous moustache, and... you said 'So...' and you asked him if he'd like to have dinner on the terrace at your apartment, and... and you... Sam..."

"What, Carls?" I said, knowing what would escape her lips next. "What's going on?"

Carly stopped breathing and said, "You and Freddie kissed!"

My jaw tightened, and I nodded. "Carly... Carly, I know we should've told you sooner, but... I dunno. I guess I have so much... God, Carls... this is tougher than I expected it to be."

"You know what's even tougher? Finding out your two best friends have been going out behind your back! That's tough!" She sniffled and said, "I'm going to find Freddie."

"Huh? What - no!"

"What? Why not? He's my friend, too!"

"Carls... I really don't think that's a good idea, right now!"

"Why not, Sam? Is he over at... your... pl-ace?" I could hear her holding her breath. "Sam... what's going on over there? Did you have dinner over there? Are you in the middle of dinner? You... oh...!" I could hear the tension building. "Oh." When I was about to intervene, she said, "Eeewwww! Sam! You two aren't, are you? Are the two of you-?"

"Carls, calm down... I don't want you overreacting...!"

She gasped. "You are, aren't you? The two of you are sneaking around behind not just my back, but Spencer's back and Freddie's mom's back? Oh, Freddie's Mom!" I could hear her tromping down a set of stairs. "I can't believe the two of you...!" She rambled on in a string of expletives that I had trouble telling apart.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"Carly just found out we've been seeing each other. And I think she knows about how you and I've been seeing a little action."

"Oh, shit!" said Freddie.

"Who was that? Sam, who was that? Goddammit, Sam! I know I fucking heard someone other than you! It was Freddie, wasn't it? He just got over boning you, didn't he? You just got done fucking him, right? You did? Oh... well that just makes it so much better for me, doesn't it?"

I heard Spencer on the other end of the line. "Carly..." he said in a soft, surprised tone. "Carly, where did you learn those words-?"

"Move!" she shrieked. I heard her pulling open the door of her apartment and hammering on Freddie's mom's door.

I turned to Freddie with my heart pounding nervously in my chest. "Freddie... you're screwed... no pun intended."

"What... oh... Shit!" Freddie sprang up, his decent-sized dick going slack as he pulled on his underwear. "Oh, shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit! Shit!" He pulled on his shirt. "Oh, Christ Almighty! Oh, fuck, she didn't just do that!"

I'd been listening to Freddie's muttering so intently that I forgot who we were about to deal with. As I was about to say something to him, I heard one word like it had been screamed at full volume right next to my ear. "FREEEEDDDDDDDDDDDDDIE!"

_Oh, holy fuck!_


End file.
